Final Prison
by Zavocado
Summary: Part of the GYOW verse, one- shot. The evening Cameron dropped Blaine off at his little rundown apartment and left him for good was one of the worst nights of Blaine's life.


A/N: Welp, I was a little bored and decided to write up the first of the GYOW one shot ideas I've got. This one is from before GYOW started.

That evening in May when Cameron left Blaine at his apartment in Lima.

It's definitely not a happy one, just a warning.

Final Prison

Blaine's stomach knotted up tighter as he stared out the window. His grandfather knew. Cameron knew he was gay now, and there was nothing he could say that would change the fact. He had no idea what was going to happen to him now. They'd been driving for almost two hours, the scenery growing steadily more rural and wild.

One thing was certain, though.

He wasn't going home. Lily was just going to be a distance, painful memory to suffer through from now on. As soon as Cameron had taken the highway, away from his childhood home and his grandparents' house, he'd known his future was going to end in something terrible. Another reform school across the country, perhaps. Or one of those Christian camps parents sent their children to in order to "make" them straight. That seemed like the sort of thing his grandfather would set up. Something he'd have to endure for another eighteen months before he was free of him for good.

But they'd passed the exit for the highway going south or north towards any major cities. His grandfather was steadily driving them into the sunset, towards the hick towns that were growing farther and farther apart the longer they drove. That might be the point, though. Put him as far out into middle-of-nowhere Ohio as possible, and let the homophobes skin him alive. Blaine wouldn't put it past the regal old man sitting next to him. His grandfather had never loved him, just the idea of what he could be.

Blaine stared moodily out the window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he kicked at the floor mat. The thick metal cuff around his ankle shifted and he shivered at the touch of the cool metal. Being watched with an ankle monitor had been part of whatever deal his grandfather had made, but none of this made any _sense_. Cameron hadn't said a word since they put his things in the backseat and climbed into the car. He'd refuse to answer any of Blaine's questions about where they were going and why. He hadn't even stopped thirty miles back when Blaine had asked for a bathroom.

Just as the sun started dipping below the horizon in front of them, Cameron pulled off at an exit. Lima. Blaine hadn't even heard of the town before, but he hoped it had a bathroom he could use before this road trip continued. _If_ it continued. What if this was their final stop?

They continued into town, passing through a few shopping centers, nice single-family home neighbors, a high school, and finally turning into a small, cracked parking lot that was littered with broken glass. Blaine squeeze his teeth together tighter as they pulled to a stop outside one of the rooms, a sense of dread filling him. A random motel-looking apartment complex was too odd of a place to stop without a really good reason.

"Out," Cameron ordered from his side, turning the engine off and climbing out.

With the engine now silent, Blaine could heard the sound of several men talking and chortling. He glanced out of his window, spotting a group of about four men sitting on the curb a few doors down. Blaine didn't know anything about where he was, or what type of people lived here, but he thought he was a pretty good judge of character from his time in a juvenile detention center. These men were trouble, from their dirty, torn clothes down to the brown bags they were clutching in their fists.

The rear side driver's door was pulled open as Blaine steadied himself and curled his lips into an aggressive looking sneer. If he acted the part like he'd done when he was locked up he could at least get his bearings before whatever was about to happen happened.

There was a loud scraping sound as he stepped up onto the curb and in front of the car. His trunk and guitar case were dropped in front of his feet a moment later. Between his grandfather's slightly harsh sounding breaths he realized the four men had stopped talking and laughing to listen.

"You'll say here now and go to McKinley high," his grandfather told him with finality. A set of keys were forced into his fist along with a bank card. "There's ten thousand in that account. It's yours as long as I _never_ have to see your worthless, faggot face anywhere near my family again."

Cameron's words were loud and ringing in the eerie silence of the parking lot. The older man glanced towards the group at the end of the row, and then climbed back into his car. By the time the car was peeling out of the lot Blaine was just beginning to overcome his shock enough to register that even though he'd remained frozen with those short parting words the men watching hadn't.

"Got ourselves a new little fag, do we?" one of the men slurred, swinging his brown bag dangerously close to one of his companion's face.

"Aw, did you get dumped by grampy?" Another one cackled. A split second later a bottle shattered against the concrete next to his foot. Before Blaine could think about what he wanted to do his instincts took over, his left hand closing over the handle on his guitar case as he fumbled with the keys in his hands.

_Get inside. Get safe._

"Hey, we're talking to you, bitch!"

The key stuck in the lock as a prick of panic crept into his head. Blaine jerked the doorknob roughly, and the door popped open. The room was mostly dark, especially with the quickly fading sunlight, but Blaine hurried inside with his guitar, dropping it next to the bed and shoving the card and keys into his pocket. His entire body was tense and expectant as he stepped back through the door for his trunk.

A large, rough hand closed over his shoulder, the nails digging in sharply as he was yanked forward and then slammed back against the doorframe.

Blaine grimaced as the edge dug into his back painfully, looking up to meet the eyes of one of the men. All four of them were surrounding him now, standing between him and his trunk only a few feet away.

"I bet you like this, huh, fag?" the man sneered. "Being cornered by a group of guys. Bet it's got you all hot and bother– "

A wad of spit smacked the man in the face, and Blaine lurched forward, trying to twist out of his grip. The other three men were on him before he had a chance to stand himself up straight. A knee connected with his gut, and a hand caught his other shirt sleeve. He felt the fabric rip as he crumbled in on himself, gasping for breath as the air was forced from his lungs. He managed to choke down a searing breath of hot, dry air before the fourth man joined the fray, his elbow jabbing sharply into Blaine's temple.

What little sense he'd managed to hold onto after his grandfather's departure vanished as he sagged back against the doorframe, trying to block the fists pummeling his body. His vision was swimming and his head was throbbing as he felt himself sink to his knees.

"Look, boys! A position he's more than familiar with!"

A foot caught him in the ribs and he collapsed forward, his elbows smacking painfully against the concrete. It was all too much at once. He'd just been _abandoned_, and now this. Maybe they would just keep beating him until he slipped from consciousness, and then keep going until he just _died_.

The hum of a car engine stopped a few feet away. Fists had stopped raining down on him, and for a desperately hopeful moment Blaine thought it was his grandfather returning. That despite all the trouble he'd caused, and Cameron's issues with his sexuality his grandfather hadn't been able to just dump him like that.

"Hey, there, pretty lady."

He rolled over enough to see that it wasn't his grandfather's expensive European car, but a beat up little Volkswagen. A young woman was climbing out of it and the men had immediately changed their focus to her. The fact that she looked as scared of them as Blaine felt barely registered to him. This might be his only chance to get inside and safe.

Blaine stretched his leg out, toeing the door open some more and slowly getting to his knees. The urge to cough, splutter, and choke on the air trying to fill his lungs was overwhelming, but he forced it down as he groped for the trunk's handle. The noise from the men and the woman picked up as he shut his eyes and started to drag the heavy trunk through the doorway. Everything hurt, and he was seeing double by the time he finally got the trunk across the threshold and out of the door's way. He closed the door as quietly as he could, fumbling with the lock, but already knowing it wouldn't hold. As a last ditch effort he pressed his back against it and looked around the small, dark room. The streetlamps had come on as he'd crawled inside and they gave off enough light for him to make out the outline of a mattress and box spring lying on the floor and a rickety looking dresser on the far wall opposite the large window next to him.

Nothing that he felt capable of moving right now. Even then there was nothing stable to brace any of it against. His eyes dropped to the trunk next to him and his end up shoving it back towards the door, hoping its weight would be enough, but he knew he was being naive to think it would hold.

A door to his right slammed shut, and angry shouts from outside greeted his ears a second later. Blaine jolted, climbing unsteadily to his feet. He knew they'd come back for him now. If that girl they'd dropped him for was shut away safely in her room they'd realize he'd shut himself away, too. Only his door wasn't going to hold up against any sort of force. Not for very long anyway.

Fists started pounding against his door, and Blaine stumbled backwards, blinking the blood out of his eyes as panic froze his insides. He was dead. That was it. They'd come in here and keep beating him, and nobody would care. Even if someone did come to his aid he'd just end up back in juvie for being in some kind of trouble again. He glanced towards the back of the apartment, wondering if maybe there was a window or something, but considering he was having enough trouble remaining upright he didn't' think hoisting himself through it was a good idea. Besides, once he did climb out of it they might just come around back and corner him.

Blaine stumbled forward quickly, dropping to his knees in front of the trunk and unlatching it as the door creaked in protest to the banging. He thought tears might be mixing with the blood that was dripping down over his eyes as he grabbed his pocket- knife from the top of the pile inside. If they were going to break in to beat him to death he wasn't going down without a fight.

The light form the window caught the lock as it twisted and jerked. A sudden sensation of dizziness overcame Blaine, the welt on his temple throbbing angrily. He tripped backwards, and his ass dropped onto the mattress. As soon as his heel hit the box spring frame supporting it he had a sudden, insane idea. With a glance at the window to make sure they weren't looking in, Blaine shoved himself off the bed, trying to block out the sound of the lock slowly caving under the force, and used what little strength he could muster to hoist the mattress up enough to see the fabric that encased the box spring. It looked cheap – cheap enough to only be the wooden frame without the metal spring interior.

Blaine flicked his knife open and slashed at the worn fabric, cutting an opening just big enough for his shoulders to pass through. He stepped into it as the lock gave a defeated clang, and slid down into the hole, twisting and bending under his torso was inside. He squeezed his shoulders together as much as possible, lying down inside the wooden frame and letting the mattress drop back down on top of him.

The trunk scraped across the floor and then slammed back against the wall a moment later. Feeling sick and dizzy Blaine bit his lip, knife still poised to strike at the opening he'd cut as he waited. He was contorted at an awkward angle within the wood frame, but for now he was hidden. With any luck at all he'd remain that way.

They were shouting and slurring, stumbling around the bed and obviously trying to find him. Blaine held his breath and shut his eyes against the wave of nausea filling him. Maybe if they didn't find him they'd leave. They'd think he'd locked the door from the outside and ran off...

"Where the fuck'd he go?" one of them demanded. Blaine heard something pound against a wooden surface and fought down the urge to jerk or twitch. The last thing he needed was for them to notice the bed move seemingly of its own accord.

"I'll check the window in the back," another said, sounding furious. "I bet that little cocksucker climbed out of it."

Heavy footsteps moved back the end of the bed by Blaine's head. he faded as they approached the back of the apartment. A door creaked open and then someone sworn loudly before the footsteps returned.

"Window's unlatched. He climbed out."

"Bastard, we'll just have to kick his faggot ass when he comes back!"

"Let's wait out front for him," a new voice agreed.

The toher grumbled in agreement and Blaine heard their footsteps start moing towards the door when a new, high-pitched voice spoke.

"What the hell is going one? Why c– oh, it's _you_."

It was woman standing by the door from what Blaine gathered, but he couldn't tell anything else by just her voice.

"Fuck off, Belinda."

"_You_ fuck off. None of you even live here, you're just here getting drunk and keeping me up all night– "

The men's footsteps carried them out of the room and Blaine heard their argument continue as the door snapped shut. Still he waited before he moved. They were going to wait for him, probably at both the window and the door. He was trapped until who knew when and there was no way to fix his lock without alerting them to his presence. He gasped in a shaky breath and bit his fist to make sure his panicked noises didn't reach their ears. There had to be _something_ he could do, something he could move or shift to make a barrier against his door.

His first thought was the mattress, but of the three objects in his room it was easily the heaviest. Mentally he mapped out what he remembered on the room: the large window next to the door, the bed, the dresser on the right side of the bed, the opening in the wall to the other part of the room, and – a large floor to ceiling pipe! That was it.

As swiftly as he could with his aching body and stiff joints, Blaine pushed the mattress up a few inches and peered out, trying to calculate the distance from the pipe to the door and the dresser's length. It should work, but it was going to take the last of his strength to move it soundlessly. Carefully, he climbed out of the box spring and crept over to his trunk, thankfully for the shouting match still going on outside. It gave him a little more leeway with noise.

With a careful drag he turned the trunk lengthwise and pressed it against the door, closest to the hinges. Then he moved over to the dresser and starting pulling the drawers out and silently placing them on the bed. Once the last one was out he slid his arms into the top two openings and with a deep breath lifted it. As soon as he took on the weigh his vision swam before his eyes again, but he had to get this in place. If he wanted any chance of surviving tonight he had to get this done. Arms trembling from the effort of hoisting the wooden dresser up he moved carefully over to the edge of the bed, aligning the dresser with the empty spot between the pipe and the trunk. He had planned on trying to lower it down gently, but the effort of holding it up when he was barely able to stand without stumbling was too much. IT dropped down with an echoing bang, right into the slot he'd wanted to put it in, but the damage was done. Everything outside the door had gone silent.

It took less than a minute for them to start pounding on the door again and shouting at him in fury through the glass, but the door wouldn't budge. The pipe rattled loudly as the dresser knocked up against it, but it held.

Blaine hobbled back towards the opening in the wall, tripping over his own feet in his exhaustion. He turned the little corner and pushed through the door, finding himself in a small, dingy little bathroom. He shut the door and locked it, surprised to find that this lock worked, and latched the little window above the toilet shut. Even if they came back here to try the window they would never fit through it. It would probably take a lot of twisting and shifting even for him to get through the small opening.

Miserable and exhaustion, Blaine dropped down in the shower stall, pulling his knees to his chest, but keeping his knife out just in case. There were still shouts and bangs echoing from the front door, but he tried to drown them out. His head was throbbing angrily, the cut on his temple was still bleeding and his stomach hurt every time he drew in a shuddering breath.

What was he going to do? What if they _did_ still manage to get inside? He didn't even consider the idea that the cops would help him. Those assholes had never believed him in the past. They certainly wouldn't come to his aid now that he had an ankle monitor. He glanced down at the little contraption. The police officer who had put it on this morning said it would activate at midnight and Blaine had thought that was strange, but now he understood.

His grandfather had requested that, had wanted to get him out here in fucking Lima to the address he'd probably given them. Cameron had set all of this up, had known for weeks now that he was going to abandon him like this. His chest ached more at the thought. At the little sister he'd practically raised, but was never going to see again. At the fact that Cameron would undoubtedly convince her he was a terribly, dirty fag not worth her time anymore.

Blaine slipped in and out of consciousness for the next few hours, alternating between dozing fitfully and moving around the little bathroom. At some point the drunk men had either given up or fallen silent. He was still too scared and sore to even go out of the room to see if the faucet worked so that he could drink water and instead scooped some out of the toilet and slurped that. His shirt, now torn and smeared with blood, was taken off and dipped into the water to clean off his cuts and scrapes from the fight.

When his ankle monitor blipped faintly a few times, Blaine looked down to see a new light was on and steadily blinking. Midnight. He was trapped for good now. He'd been in a juvenile detention center, been on lock down at his reform school, been abandoned by his grandfather in some tiny town he only knew the name of and was now possibly trapped in this room for however long. Yet, somehow Lima still felt more like a prison than all the rest. Somehow being completely on his own without anyone at all on his side made things worse.


End file.
